


Brokenness (A Justice Fantasy)

by rellkelltn87



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Abusive Parents, Angst, Angst!, Biphobia, Comfort/Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Season 16 Spoilers, angst angst angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:21:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25174546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rellkelltn87/pseuds/rellkelltn87
Summary: A brief but not-so-chronological history of Sonny Carisi and Rafael Barba.In response to the prompt "Sonny and Rafael telling each other the bad things they’ve gone through in the past and then realizing they both might think they’re broken, but their pieces fit together to make a new whole (the angstier the better)."For the Barisi Summer Exchange 2020.
Relationships: Rafael Barba/Dominick "Sonny" Carisi Jr.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 42
Collections: Barisi Summer Exchange 2020





	Brokenness (A Justice Fantasy)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BarbaLovesCarisi (CaptainAmericasShield)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainAmericasShield/gifts).



**January 2020, Manhattan SVU**

Sonny Carisi knew not to expect a ticker-tape parade or even a “good morning” when he walked into the SVU squadroom these days, but he was nevertheless surprised by his former colleagues’ exasperated grunts and eye-rolls when they saw him. 

“Bad time, Carisi,” Rollins told him. She and Fin were huddled together by her desk, squinting at her laptop. 

“Sergeant, you promised me more evidence in the Londono case.”

“That’s on you and your bosses for jumping the gun on charges,” Fin answered without looking away from the computer screen. 

Rollins typed something on the keyboard, hit Enter, and pointed at the result. “Miami?”

“Only flight it could have been,” Fin said. “I’ll tell Liv.”

Fin started towards Benson’s office, stopping in front of Carisi. “We’ve got a kidnapping we’re dealing with. Three girls under 12. And we’re on hour 26.”

“What can I do to help?” Carisi asked, trying to keep his own eagerness in check as he followed Fin towards the office at the back of the squadroom. “Warrants —”

“Right now, this is our job. You’ve been here before. You know what happens when we’re 24 hours in.”

Before they reached Benson’s office, the captain herself flung open the door. When she saw Carisi, she flinched. 

“Fin,” she said, “bring Rollins in, we all need to talk.” Then, reluctantly: “While you’re here, you might as well join us, Carisi.”

“The good news,” Benson began when the four of them were gathered near her desk, “if you can call it good news, is that they found the girls safe at their aunt’s house in Miami. Safe from their stepfather, safe from their mother who’s still interested in protecting her husband rather than her children.”

“So the aunt’ll be charged with kidnapping,” Fin said, “the case goes to the feds, and there’s no hope for us to get the stepdad.”

“I have contacts in CPS,” Benson said, “but.” She breathed in through her nose and pursed her lips tightly. “But.”

“Liv?” Rollins prompted. 

“Kellner had a trial pending for an unrelated assault that took place at his former job. The defense attorney representing him in that case is the person who conspired with the wife’s sister to take the three girls. The girls called their aunt when their mother chose not to believe them about Kellner. So Kellner’s own defense attorney gets on the plane with the girls, flies down to Miami, drops them off with their aunt, then flies back to New York and continues working as if nothing happened.”

Fin cursed under his breath. 

“What?” Rollins asked.

“Kellner’s defense attorney,” Fin said, waiting for Benson to signal to him to continue, “is Rafael Barba.”

Carisi felt his heart drop to his stomach, and then his stomach and heart drop together down to his toes. 

**March 2016, Forlini’s**

“Can I buy you a drink?”

Carisi tensed up for a second or two when Barba laid an open hand on his shoulder, but quickly relaxed into the ADA’s touch. Barba took the seat beside his at the bar. “What’re you having?”

Carisi held up his beer bottle and shrugged. “I need something harder.”

Barba ordered them a top-shelf scotch. 

“That’s a little too generous, Counselor,” Carisi said.

“It’ll be a little too generous when I order us a second round.”

Carisi’s muscles tensed again when he wondered if Barba, the ADA he looked up to as a mentor, the ADA on whom he’d nursed a crush that he refused to narrate back to himself for some time now, was flirting with him. 

“Sidebar,” Barba said, titling his head towards a booth across from where they sat.

Carisi followed him. They sipped their scotch together in silence for a few moments. 

“Rollins told me the squad was impressed with your work. You got Father Eugene to tell you everything he knew.” 

“You all right, there, Barba? You just complimented me.”

“You get one a year. Two if you pass the Bar.” He offered Carisi a smirk. “Never knew you wanted to be a priest.”

“A long time ago,” Carisi said, cradling his tumbler in both hands. “Listen, I’m a detective. What’re you nosing around for?”

“I thought about it — seminary — for a few months too.”

“What happened?”

“Lady my mother worked with used an inheritance to pay my way through Harvard. She had no kids, no living family, wanted to help me out.”

“Nice.”

Barba’s eyes flared wide. “Rollins said you might be —”

“Amanda sent you?”

“She doesn’t want you to drop out of law school in your last semester, or duck out of taking the Bar exam.”

“How kind of her.”

“Sonny,” Barba said, probably the first time he’d said the detective’s first name out loud, unless — no, no, no, that was not a thought one wanted to have about one’s mentor — “are you all right?”

_No,_ Carisi wanted to say. “Yeah,” he told Barba. “No worries.”

Barba’s eyes were so green and so, so full of what Carisi could only read as genuine concern.

“You’re sticking your nose in my business, my personal business that’s got no relevance to you,” Carisi noted. “Who are you, me?”

Barba cracked a smile. “You’re smart. You’ll make a good ADA. I want you to stick with it.” He leaned in towards Carisi. “And I like you.”

The words had a sweetness to them and yet went straight to Carisi’s crotch, and maybe a little to his lungs, too, and his heart. 

“I don’t sleep with co-workers,” Carisi said, contributing his own smirk to the conversation. 

Barba nodded. “Neither do I,” he said, a plausible lie. 

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Carisi said, staring into his scotch. 

“You don’t have to tell me anything.”

“Amanda knows most of the story. I guess she figured I was hurting and maybe thought she couldn’t help me, but really, I’m fine. I wanted to go to seminary when I was a teenager in part because I liked to read about theology — it made me think a whole lot, same stuff I get out of law nowadays — and in part because I thought I was gay. My father was an asshole. What else is new? That’s why I’ll give you a death glare if you ever call me Dominick.”

“I had most of that figured out from the start,” Barba said, raising his tumbler. “To the asshole fathers we outgrew, somehow.”

They clinked glasses and sipped their scotch. Carisi winced. “I still see my old man every other Sunday. Sometimes I pretend I’ve got to work, sometimes I get away with it too, but Ma says it’s disrespectful not to see him regardless of how he treats everybody.”

“You’re in your thirties. You don’t —”

“Listen. He never hit me or Ma or my sisters. So I go, ‘cause otherwise they don’t shut up about it, and I get a headache.”

“I’m sorry,” Barba said with a gorgeous sincerity that Carisi suddenly wanted to embrace, drink down, latch on to. “What made you change your mind about seminary?”

“Fell in love with a girl, realized that women did turn me on after all.”

Barba rolled his eyes. 

“I was maybe 25 when it dawned on me what all those feelings — the, you know, compounding of it all — meant, but now we’re getting way past anything having to do with how I got a confession out of Father Eugene.”

And yet, he wanted to tell his mentor, his friend (maybe?), everything. It had been years since he’d been willing to let _too much_ fall from his tongue, but Barba was listening intently, his lips parted, focused on Carisi’s words in a way Carisi couldn’t remember anyone ever listening.

“So I’m, what, twenty-five years old, an officer looking to make detective, and I tell my sisters I finally have everything figured out. I was the “B” in “LGBTQ,” y’know, and —“ He cut himself off with a laugh. “This is stupid. My sisters, they laughed. Had a couple of other choice words, including _no you’re not_. Which is ridiculous. But they were all, _no you’re not_ and _don’t do this, Sonny_ , like a warning, while they were laughing.”

“I’m sorry,” Barba said again.

“Don’t be. All it is, Rafael,” he said, carefully letting the ADA’s first name leave his lips, “and it’s not such a big deal as Amanda probably made you think it is, I promise, is when I dredged all that stuff up again for the sake of getting a confession from Father Eugene, it reminded myself of how I kinda folded myself back into the closet to — what the hell am I telling you this for?”

Barba shrugged.

“I kinda — to shut everybody up, that’s why I did it, maybe, to the point I even stopped believing my own attraction to men was real. Because when I said, “hey, remember what a moron I was for having a fake quarter-life crisis, how I almost flushed all my real chances down the toilet by buying into this bullshit,” they were quiet. Sometimes it’s nice when it’s just quiet.”

“Like why you still see your father,” Barba said.

“Yeah. To keep everybody quiet.”

“Someday,” Barba said, “someday soon, you’ll be an ADA in a different department and you won’t have to testify in my cases.”

Carisi looked into his now-empty glass, then across the table at Barba. “I’d like that.”

**February 2020, 60 Centre Street**

“Bold of you to come in here and ask me to interfere in a case we have no jurisdiction over,” Hadid said, refusing to look up from the work on her desk. 

“By bold, you mean “stupid,” Carisi suggested. 

“Lieutenant Benson and I are making sure CPS has every resource they need to protect the girls.”

“They’re not protected as long as they’re under their mother’s custody. They should be with their aunt.”

“That’s a matter for family court.”

Carisi shrugged, let his shoulders drop, and started for the door. “And as your supervisor,” Hadid added, “I should remind you not to involve yourself in a family court case that relates to a crime no longer in SVU’s hands.”

“No problem, Ms. Hadid,” he said resignedly. 

“And,” she said, “I trust you won’t interfere in the hearings happening in the federal courthouse on the next block, either.”

“That’s way out of our jurisdiction,” Carisi assured her.

On his lunch break — a break he admittedly rarely ever took — Carisi wandered past the federal courthouse. He crossed the street, walked another two blocks north, then looped around and walked back. _Don’t_ , he told himself, _it’s not worth it_.

And then, around the corner, behind the city courthouse, he saw Barba and Rita Calhoun — his friend, but presumably in this instance his attorney — waiting by a coffee cart. Carisi didn’t stop. He returned to his office.

**May 2016**

Carisi had only come over to Barba during the gathering following Dodds’s funeral to let him know that he and Rollins had the name of guy who’d been sending him death threats, and that they had officers posted on his block, but Barba’s _not in here_ turned into a discussion of survivor guilt, and how Carisi would have been the better detective to accompany Benson because he’d seen so much DV unlawful imprisonment on Staten Island. 

“You working tonight?” Barba asked, his serious expression transforming back into a smirk.

“Nah.”

“I have better whiskey at my place.”

Carisi felt himself blush, and he saw Barba’s eyes flare in response. They’d had a long couple of days, all of them, and going home with Barba was, in the moment, exactly what he needed, what he wanted. “Sounds good,” was all Carisi could answer.

Settled in the cab, Barba smirked again, this time half to himself. “So I take it you’re looking for a job with the DA’s office? You’ll be off NYPD in a few months?”

Carisi unbuckled his seatbelt and slid closer to Barba. He leaned in close, so his lips were close to the ADA’s jawline. “Not in here,” he said against Barba’s skin.

The second they got into Barba’s apartment, Barba’s lips were all over Carisi’s face and neck. “You’re going to get a job with the DA’s office, yes, Carisi?” Barba prompted breathlessly, his hands on Carisi’s belt buckle. “Preferably Brooklyn, or Queens, or somewhere where you and I don’t have to work together.”

“ _Really?_ ” Carisi moved closer, wanting more friction between them if Barba’s hand was going to remain stalled so close to his fly. “ _Now?_ ”

Barba kissed him, and with his mouth still on Carisi’s, still breathless, he said, “We can’t do this if you’re still testifying for me.”

“So I won’t testify for you anymore.”

“You’re sure about that? What if you have to testify so I can put someone away? What if the only way for me to put a serial away is for you to testify?” Here was Rafael Barba, pushing down Carisi’s dress pants and briefs, rambling on about ethics as he wrapped his hand around Carisi’s dick. 

“C’mon,” Carisi started to say, “Raf —”

“What do you want, Sonny? You want my mouth on you?”

“Yes,” Carisi hissed.

Then, catching his breath again, “but what if —”

“We need this, you and me, tonight,” Carisi said. “If it’s a breach, it’s a breach. Just for tonight, yeah? Just for tonight.”

Barba pressed his lips together and looked up into Carisi’s eyes. “Just for you,’ Sonny,” he said against the detective’s lips, “just for you.”

—

It was maybe two or three in the morning when Carisi was hit with a wave of grief, a stab of guilt over the sudden and unnecessary loss of Dodds. That hit him hard, together with the realization that this was the first time he’d stayed, slept over, after sex with a man, and that man was Barba, and Barba was so, so charming. 

But now that SVU had lost Dodds in the worst way possible, Carisi wasn’t ready to leave the squad, which meant that he and Barba might not share a bed again for a long time. 

Or, he was making excuses. 

_Self-hatred doesn’t win you any friends, but it sure wins you a lot of peace and quiet,_ Carisi told himself. 

Then, there was Barba, curled up behind him, a hand in his hair, the words “Sonny, it’s okay, Sonny, whatever you want, whatever you decide,” comforting him. 

Carisi gripped Barba’s hand.

“The weight of the world shouldn’t be on your shoulders,” Barba said, planting a kiss on Carisi’s shoulder, “not tonight.”

And Carisi hated that, and loved it, because Barba knew what it was to have to carry the weight of ensuring that an adult man was emotionally regulated, kept calm and under control, so that he wouldn’t hurt anyone else. 

Carisi flipped over to face Barba. “I know,” he said. “You too.”

Barba closed his eyes and swallowed hard. 

“The brokenness,” Carisi said, “is permanent, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Barba whispered, drawing Carisi into a full embrace.

**February 2018, Sonny Carisi’s Apartment**

Carisi remembered the cold February evening when Barba came by his place to say goodbye. 

They hadn’t been together since the night after Dodds’s funeral. Both of them were too justice-minded, too worried about ethics, too worried about justice to go any further with a relationship if Carisi was still testifying in Barba’s cases. Some days Barba was short with him, crankier than usual, and Carisi wondered if he’d inadvertently broken Barba’s heart a little — for more than one reason — by staying on with NYPD for another two years. 

That night, Barba’s eyes were red and teary.

“Listen,” Carisi said, “you did what you did for your own reasons, whatever they were, whatever it is about bad memories that make us lose our minds for a minute, but I couldn’t be there today.”

Barba blinked once, and tears fell from both eyes. “I turned my resignation in to McCoy.”

“Makes sense. Can’t keep working for a guy who charged you with murder.”

Barba reached out a hand, cradling Carisi’s face, rubbing a thumb over his cheek. “I’m sorry, Sonny.” The words came out tearful, broken. “I know, given what your mother went through, how she had to trust you with her secrets, how all that was put on you when you were just a teenager, how everything gets put on you, and I’m sorry, Sonny, I’m sorry.”

For a good minute or so, they embraced, silently, fighting back sobs.

Barba craned his head upward and kissed Carisi’s lips, and Carisi knew the kiss meant goodbye. 

“Where are you going?”

“Miami, for a few weeks. After that, I don’t know.” He pulled away from Carisi, patting his arm. “I bullshitted Liv a little because she’s my best friend and I love her, but you, I’ve been _in love_ with you from time to time, so …” He trailed off, forcing a closed-mouth smile. “So I need to be honest with you. I’m a bad man. That’s why I have to go. Maybe someday I can make up for what I’ve done, make it better, but until then, I can’t stay.”

“Rafael —”

Barba interrupted Carisi before he could argue otherwise. “Just trust me, I’m a bad man. Promise me you’ll use that JD, please. You’ve worked so hard. You need to move forward and do the work you’re meant to do.”

With that, Barba left. 

**February 2020, Federal Court, Manhattan**

Barba was as pale as a sheet of paper. The judge hadn’t yet emerged from chambers, and Barba sat with his hands folded, staring ahead at the bench. Rita Calhoun, sitting next to him behind the table at the front of the courtroom, faced him even as he looked away. She was talking to him, explaining something, maybe reassuring him, but he kept looking forward, tapping his fingers against the table. 

The bench, Carisi remembered: Barba’s grandmother had shared his dreams of The Honorable Rafael Barba, dreams that were now two years gone, rendered impossible. 

A few days after they picked him up, Rollins and Carisi learned that Felipe Heredio had been hired by the COs union. Barba presumably knew what that meant for him today, what his fate was if he was sent to prison on this kidnapping charge, even for a few months. 

Barba had never been really all that worried about being sent to prison on murder charges for his interference in the Householder case, because as soon as the murder charge came through, _murder_ , not even manslaughter, he and Dworkin both knew that McCoy and the nepotistic piece of unevenly-cooked toast he’d appointed were simply grandstanding. 

But here, even with the mitigating factor that Barba and the girls’ aunt were trying to protect them when their own mother chose her husband over them, the charges made sense, at least somewhat. 

Calhoun made an impassioned argument for mitigating circumstances and carefully explained that the kidnapping charges were excessive, since Barba had merely accompanied the girls on the plane to ensure that they’d stay safe. The aunt had arranged the entire “kidnapping,” according to Calhoun’s argument. And besides, he and the aunt were literally trying to save the girls’ lives.

Reflexively, Carisi prayed.

The judge dismissed the charges but warned Barba that this didn’t make him immune to lesser charges, civil suits, and disbarment. Barba let out a breath that he must have been holding in for weeks. 

Carisi ducked out before Barba saw him in the gallery. When he found Barba sitting on a bench near Foley Square half an hour later, though, Carisi approached the disgraced former ADA, taking the spot next to his. 

“Long time,” Carisi said. Both men stared forward.

“Congratulations, ADA Carisi,” Barba offered. 

“Thank you. I practiced your summations in the mirror, y’know.” Now he turned to face Barba, who was still staring outwards at nothing in particular. “Wouldn’t have made it here without you.”

“That’s not true.”

“You are not a bad man, Rafael.”

“I know what I am.”

“You,” Carisi said, moving closer so only Barba could hear, “are not a bad man. You had a legacy of callousness and cruelty and violence on your shoulders, and you fought to make sure that legacy didn’t continue. You mighta fought wrong a couple times, but this time, what you did for those girls —”

“I’ll be disbarred.”

“You fought against what they put on your shoulders. You made sure those girls had an adult who could look out for them, that they didn’t have to do it themselves.”

Barba lifted his head and locked eyes with Carisi. 

“You chose justice instead,” Carisi said.

He swore he saw Barba’s lower lip tremble. With a tearful smile on his face, he covered Carisi’s hand with his. 

“You chose justice,” Carisi told him, _assured_ him, “and you inspired me to choose justice, too.”


End file.
